Encounterlogs
Antoinettes Odd Encounter Sr Castiel 250127
In an esoteric alchemical workshop, Antoinette encounters a matter of supernatural importance as a grotesquely deformed creature emerges from the depths of the laboratory's plumbing, pleading for help in a disjointed chorus of voices. The creature, formed from a dark, viscous ooze, displays both a terrifying presence and an evident suffering, making disjointed pleas for relief from its own existence. It sporadically lashes out, yet its desperation and pain are palpable, conveying its confusion over its identity and purpose. Antoinette, despite the fear and the overwhelming situation, finds herself torn between her innate curiosity as a scientist and the alarming reality of an entity that defies any logical explanation. Her attempts to comprehend the creature's origin lead to the realization that it might be the result of some otherworldly interference, hinted at by disturbing distortions in the laboratory's large mirror.
As the encounter escalates, Antoinette is faced with the dire urgency of the situation. With limited time and knowledge on how to deal with such an anomaly, she opts for a compassionate response, administering a concoction meant to ease the creature's suffering. This act is met with a momentary sense of peace before a more formidable presence makes itself known. Emerging from the mirror, a vast and incomprehensible entity retrieves the creature, merging with it before disappearing as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving behind a restored room and an air thick with unresolved mysteries. The encounter concludes with Antoinette, shaken and bewildered, retreating from the laboratory, her mind grappling with the nightmarish reality that she had just witnessed, a stark reminder of the fragile boundary between the known and the unknowable in her line of work. This encounter underscores the unpredictable nature of delving into the supernatural and the unseen costs of such explorations.
(Antoinette's odd encounter(SRCastiel):SRCastiel)
[Sun Jan 26 2025]
In an escoteric alchemical workshop
The first thing one might notice about this room is the large mirror along the back wall, making the space seem bigger than it is. Next is the array of laboratory equipment geared toward a mixture of scientific and alchemical endeavors. The western wall is taken up by shelving and storage for various chemicals, ingredients, and a small cage or two perhaps for holding small mammals to test things on. They are currently empty. The eastern wall sports a large Ouroboros symbol that appears to be made of crystallized blood..
It is afternoon, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Someone in Haven has found out about the supernatural and is freaking out about it. They're at risk of exposing the secret, hurting themselves, or hurting others. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Antoinette is sitting on the floor of her lab, rubbing at her eyes a bit like maybe she'd chosen to take a nap for some reason and is just starting to wake up.
The air in the alchemical workshop is an odd combination of crisp sterility and faint chemical tang, though the biting cold of the day seeps in through the cracks in the ancient brickwork. Despite the numerous heaters lining the room, frost clings stubbornly to the edges of the mirror along the back wall, its silvered surface fogging slightly with each exhalation. The glass amplifies the light of the overhead fixtures, casting the room in a bright, almost clinical glow that fails to reach the shadowed corners.
Shelves along the western wall are crammed with jars and vials of varying sizes, their contents a kaleidoscope of colors and textures. Some shimmer iridescently, others pulse faintly as if alive, and a few are dark and opaque, their surfaces marked with alchemical sigils to warn against careless handling. Glass beakers, flasks, and coiled tubes glint under the light, their pristine surfaces betraying no sign of the strange experiments they've surely endured. A faint smell of burnt sulfur lingers in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the sickly sweetness of decaying organic matter.
Small animal cages on the lower shelves are conspicuously empty, their metal bars clean but scuffed, hinting at the creatures that had once been contained within. The absence of movement within the cages should be a relief, but instead, it only sharpens the oppressive stillness of the room. Each sound- the hum of fluorescent bulbs, the faint creak of wood as the structure of the building shifts in the cold- feels amplified in the silence. And yet, beneath it all, there is another sound, so faint at first it could be mistaken for imagination.
A low, almost imperceptible groaning rises from the pipes embedded within the walls, a sound like distant wind howling through a narrow canyon. The noise reverberates softly, curling through the air like smoke, growing in volume with an unsettling rhythm. It's not constant, but intermittent, as though whatever is producing it is stopping to listen or breathe. The metal plumbing creaks occasionally, the faintest sound of water sloshing within adding to the growing sense of unease.
On the tiled floor near the central workbench, an array of powders has been meticulously laid out in concentric circles, their patterns interrupted only by a single, jagged crack in one of the tiles. The flaw in the floor seems trivial at first, but the longer one looks at it, the more unsettling it becomes. The crack twists unnaturally, its edges darkened as though burned, and a faint warmth emanates from it despite the freezing air.
A sudden, sharp clink echoes through the room as one of the glass vials on the shelf trembles slightly, its contents- a thick, amber liquid- sloshing within. It is followed by another sound, deeper this time: a wet, gurgling noise that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The mirror along the back wall vibrates faintly, as though something massive is moving behind it, but there is nothing there- only the reflection of the room, stretched slightly by the curvature of the glass.
All that noise intensifies, the groaning within the pipes rising to a discordant wail. It's almost like a voice, not quite human, but not entirely alien either. There's a quality to it that suggests suffering, a keening that rises and falls in pitch as though whatever is making it is clawing at the very fabric of its existence. The sound is joined by a faint dripping, the slow and deliberate plink of water striking metal. Except it's not water.
From the drain beneath the central workbench, something dark and viscous begins to seep upward, defying gravity. It moves sluggishly at first, thick ropes of gelatinous fluid oozing out of the grate and pooling on the floor. The substance gleams in the harsh light, its surface rippling as though alive. It's not one solid mass but an amalgamation of smaller, shifting fragments that slide over and through each other, their movements disturbingly organic.
The sound of dripping intensifies, joined now by the faint sound of something scraping along the interior of the pipes. The gelatinous mass grows, spreading outward like spilled ink. Tiny filaments extend from its edges, probing the air with an unsettling sentience. It pulsates, emitting a faint, wet squelching noise that seems to echo unnaturally in the enclosed space. The frost on the mirror begins to melt, rivulets of water streaking downward as the temperature in the room inexplicably rises.
A faint, acrid smell fills the air, sharp and caustic, burning at the back of the throat. The groaning within the pipes has stopped, replaced by a deep, rhythmic thudding that seems to resonate from within the walls themselves. It's as though something massive and unseen is moving through the building, its presence pressing against the confines of the workshop like a predator testing the strength of its cage.
The viscous ooze continues to expand, its surface bubbling in places as if something beneath it is struggling to emerge. Eyes- or what might be eyes- form and dissolve within the mass, their appearance fleeting but undeniable. The wailing sound rises again, this time accompanied by a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the floor and into the very bones of anyone present. The mirror's surface distorts, the reflection of the room twisting and warping as though the glass is no longer solid.
From somewhere deep within the mass, a shape begins to form. It's indistinct at first, a suggestion of limbs and a torso, but it grows more defined with each passing moment. The ooze shifts violently, the newly-formed appendages slamming against the tiled floor with a wet, resonant thud. The creature's form is grotesque and ever-changing, its features melting and reforming in a way that defies logic or sanity.
The acrid smell intensifies as the creature lets out a sound that is neither a scream nor a roar but something in between, a noise that claws at the mind and leaves an unsettling echo in its wake. The overhead lights flicker, casting the workshop into brief moments of darkness. In those instants, the creature seems to grow larger, its shadow stretching unnaturally across the walls and ceiling, as if it exists in multiple planes at once.
The room's atmosphere grows heavy, oppressive, as though the very air is conspiring against any attempt to breathe. The frost on the edges of the mirror is gone now, replaced by a faint, reddish hue that seeps outward like blood in water. The temperature continues to rise, beads of sweat forming on Antoinette's any exposed skin despite the freezing temperatures outside. The creature's newly-formed limbs scrape against the tiles, leaving deep gouges in their wake as it begins to move, its intentions unclear but undeniably hostile.
Or is it?
Antoinette had pulled out her phone to check a couple things, still sitting on the floor. She sends off a quick text before the oppressiveness of the room starts to truly sink in, paired with the unsettling rattling, near guttural growling.
Antoinette rubs a hand at her eyes, like she is trying to wake herself up or something while the ooze spreads, grows. She tugs at her sweater, growing uncomfortably hot. She stumbles back a step or two as the creature's limbs start pull itself forward. Of course, the scientist in her, the alchemist, can't help but be dangerously curious alongside the fear of whatever this abomination is that's somehow found its way up from the...plumbing? She doesn't try to run yet, or get violent yet, but she is inching closer toward the stairs.
Antoinette had pulled out her phone to check a couple things, still sitting on the floor. She sends off a quick text before the oppressiveness of the room starts to truly sink in, paired with the unsettling rattling, near guttural growling.
It's a different oppressiveness than the natural one that emanates from the dedication of the room to Obsidian. That, she'd grown comfortable with. No. This was different. Potentially dangerous? She pushes herself cautiously to her feet, eyeing the crack in the floor. Had that always been there?
She rubs a hand at her eyes, like she is trying to wake herself up or something while the ooze spreads, grows. She tugs at her sweater, growing uncomfortably hot. She stumbles back a step or two as the creature's limbs start pull itself forward. Of course, the scientist in her, the alchemist, can't help but be dangerously curious alongside the fear of whatever this abomination is that's somehow found its way up from the...plumbing? She doesn't try to run yet, or get violent yet, but she is inching closer toward the stairs. (fix)
Another gurgles as the creature drags itself out of the cracked floor, the sound thick and wet, like a body submerged in tar trying to breathe. Limbs form and dissolve in turn, malformed hands grasping at the tiled surface only to collapse into writhing puddles that stretch and pull itself forward. The mass shudders violently, spilling over the floor in trembling waves, its tortured existence staining the once pristine laboratory with grotesque vitality.It speaks- barely. Its voice is layered, overlapping tones of a childish whisper and a guttural roar, its words fragmented and dripping with agony.
"Why... hurts... what am I?"
someone question hangs in the air, unanswered, as the thing convulses, attempting to stabilize itself into some semblance of form. Its "head," if it could be called that, rises slowly, unevenly from the rippling mass. The semblance of a face begins to push against the surface- distorted, asymmetrical, the features half-formed as if molded by an indifferent hand. "Help... please... make it stop." The words rattle out, wet and desperate, each syllable a plea edged with anguish.
A viscous tendril reaches toward a shelf but falters halfway, slapping down with a sickening squelch. Chemicals clatter as the vibrations ripple up the walls, one beaker tipping over and spilling its contents, the liquid hissing faintly as it reacts to the presence of the creature. The air grows thick with a chemical tang, almost suffocating in its intensity, but the thing doesn't seem to notice.
"Why... why like this?" the voice asks again, bubbling up with raw confusion. Its body twists in on itself, folds of flesh folding inward as if retreating from its own shape. "I don't... belong."
The crack beneath it widens further, the fractured tiles groaning as the creature's bulk grows heavier, more defined, as though it is absorbing the lab's oppressive energy. The mirror on the back wall trembles, vibrating against its frame, and for the briefest moment, Antoinette might notice something moving within it- not a reflection, but something deeper, a distortion that ripples independently of the room.
"I was... something," it continues, its trembling voice rising into a gurgled sob. "I don't... remember. Please... please don't... leave me like this."The creature's tendrils lash out suddenly, a reflexive, desperate movement. One strikes a nearby table leg, splintering the wood and sending glass shards scattering across the floor. Another tendril stretches toward the stairs, its end curling like a clawed hand, stopping short as if afraid to go further.
The agony in its voice shifts to something quieter, almost pleading. "It's dark... so dark. Don't let me go back there. Don't let me be alone." The room seems to close in further, the alchemical equipment rattling softly in rhythm with the creature's labored breaths. For a moment, the lab feels less like a sanctuary of science and more like a stage for something ancient and wrong, a place where pain and curiosity collide in the most unsettling of ways.
The creature's malformed face turns, its hollow sockets somehow fixed on Antoinette. Its expression- if it can even be called that- is an unholy mixture of longing and terror. "You know... you know what I am..." it whispers, its voice trembling on the edge of despair. "Fix me..."
nother gurgles as the creature drags itself out of the cracked floor, the sound thick and wet, like a body submerged in tar trying to breathe. Limbs form and dissolve in turn, malformed hands grasping at the tiled surface only to collapse into writhing puddles that stretch and pull itself forward. The mass shudders violently, spilling over the floor in trembling waves, its tortured existence staining the once pristine laboratory with grotesque vitality.It speaks- barely. Its voice is layered, overlapping tones of a childish whisper and a guttural roar, its words fragmented and dripping with agony.
"Why... hurts... what am I?"
The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as the thing convulses, attempting to stabilize itself into some semblance of form. Its "head," if it could be called that, rises slowly, unevenly from the rippling mass. The semblance of a face begins to push against the surface- distorted, asymmetrical, the features half-formed as if molded by an indifferent hand. "Help... please... make it stop." The words rattle out, wet and desperate, each syllable a plea edged with anguish.
A viscous tendril reaches toward a shelf but falters halfway, slapping down with a sickening squelch. Chemicals clatter as the vibrations ripple up the walls, one beaker tipping over and spilling its contents, the liquid hissing faintly as it reacts to the presence of the creature. The air grows thick with a chemical tang, almost suffocating in its intensity, but the thing doesn't seem to notice.
"Why... why like this?" the voice asks again, bubbling up with raw confusion. Its body twists in on itself, folds of flesh folding inward as if retreating from its own shape. "I don't... belong."
The crack beneath it widens further, the fractured tiles groaning as the creature's bulk grows heavier, more defined, as though it is absorbing the lab's oppressive energy. The mirror on the back wall trembles, vibrating against its frame, and for the briefest moment, Antoinette might notice something moving within it- not a reflection, but something deeper, a distortion that ripples independently of the room.
"I was... something," it continues, its trembling voice rising into a gurgled sob. "I don't... remember. Please... please don't... leave me like this."The creature's tendrils lash out suddenly, a reflexive, desperate movement. One strikes a nearby table leg, splintering the wood and sending glass shards scattering across the floor. Another tendril stretches toward the stairs, its end curling like a clawed hand, stopping short as if afraid to go further.
The agony in its voice shifts to something quieter, almost pleading. "It's dark... so dark. Don't let me go back there. Don't let me be alone." The room seems to close in further, the alchemical equipment rattling softly in rhythm with the creature's labored breaths. For a moment, the lab feels less like a sanctuary of science and more like a stage for something ancient and wrong, a place where pain and curiosity collide in the most unsettling of ways.
The creature's malformed face turns, its hollow sockets somehow fixed on Antoinette. Its expression- if it can even be called that- is an unholy mixture of longing and terror. "You know... you know what I am..." it whispers, its voice trembling on the edge of despair. "Fix me..."
There's a look to the mirror, those blue eyes clocking that ripple. Illusion? Dimensional? Dream-related? Were there other dimensions? That was a whole other bit that Antoinette did not need to start spiraling down into. She looks back to the creature, sweat beading along her face, breathing becoming difficult. She reaches for her rebreather, hanging up nearby, probably not used as often as it should be when dealing with such caustic chemicals and esoteric materials. She puts it on now to try and breathe a little easier and not pass the fuck out.
It needed her help though and Antoinette wasn't positive she -could- help it, but she had to try, right? As terrifying as this thing looked, as much as the fear was coursing through her right now...it was an opportunity for knowledge. "You aren't alone." She says finally, with as much convinction as she can muster. "You're not alone. And if you don't want to go back, you won't." Scrambling for time as she clocks the various things in the room that maybe might could help. Her eyes are drawn to the mirror again, watching for anything that might be trying to come out of it. "T-tell me your name, something about you, anything you can remember or think of." She tries to encourage the ooze, channeling her fear into -action- as she makes way for her primary bench to start working some of that alchemical magic and, well, maybe something will actually come of it.""
Antoinette's company, this creature, visibly quivers at her words, its amorphous body trembling as if reacting to the promise of solace. The face it had formed, twisted and broken, ripples like liquid under strain. A long, low gurgle escapes it, half a sigh of relief, half a sound of immeasurable despair. "Alone... for so long," it murmurs, the voice barely audible but layered with pain. The words bubble up through the viscous ooze, distorted and stretched, as though spoken through thick water. "Name... name... forgotten... but... I was someone."
It surges slightly forward, the tendrils at its edges stretching thin and then retreating, like it is testing its own boundaries. A claw-like limb forms briefly and scrapes against the floor, leaving shallow gouges in the tile before dissolving back into the quivering mass. "It hurts," the creature groans, louder this time, the sound reverberating in the air, an unnatural pitch that grates against the ear. "Why does it hurt? Why... did they make me?"
As it speaks, the mass seems to change, its surface becoming less cohesive, more volatile. Shimmering strands of dark, oily liquid rise and fall like steam from a boiling cauldron. Its voice grows more frantic, despair leaking into every syllable. "I don't understand. I didn't want this. They made me this way! They took... they took everything!"
The mirror behind it begins to ripple again, subtle at first, then with increasing intensity. The distortion is no longer confined to the glass; it spreads to the air around the mirror, warping the light, bending the reflections of the room into grotesque parodies of themselves. The image of the ooze within the mirror is even more monstrous, its face impossibly contorted and fractured. For a fleeting moment, there is the suggestion of movement beyond the glass- a shadowed shape, something vast and watching.
The creature turns toward the mirror as if it senses this presence, a wet hiss escaping from deep within its mass. "Them," it rasps, its tone trembling with fear and rage. "They... they're there. Watching. Always watching."
A tendril lashes out without warning, striking the mirror with a wet crack. The glass splinters, veins of fractures spreading like a spiderweb, but the mirror does not shatter. Instead, the distortions deepen, the warped light spilling out into the room like a living thing. The creature recoils, its form shrinking slightly as if expecting retaliation.
"Don't let them take me back," it begs, its many voices overlapping, rising into a pitiful wail. "They'll make me worse... worse than this!" The air grows heavier, thicker, the oppressive energy emanating from the mirror pressing down on everything in the room. The bottles on the shelves rattle faintly, a few teetering on the edge. A faint hum begins to resonate, coming from the glass itself, low and droning, carrying with it a sense of impending collapse. Whoever or whatever made this thing, it watches, and it bides its time in what may be morbid curiosity.
The creature's tendrils twist and writhe, no longer striking out but curling inward, as though it is trying to shield itself. "I don't want to be like this," it whispers, the words barely audible over the growing hum. "I was someone. I was... someone."
The mirror pulses, the distortions within it surging outward for a moment before receding, like the surface of water disturbed by a stone. The shadowed figure within it seems to shift closer, its edges becoming more defined- a looming presence that carries with it an undeniable aura of menace. Whatever it is, it is coming.
The creature lets out a keening wail, its form flattening against the floor as if trying to melt into the cracks. "Help me," it sobs, its voice breaking into a chorus of overlapping tones. "Please. Don't let them take me back!"
The hum deepens, the mirror's fractured surface now glowing faintly with a cold, silver light. The room seems to shrink, the walls bending inward imperceptibly, drawing all focus to the fractured glass and the abomination that cowers before it. The moment hangs precariously, the air thick with unspoken threats and the desperate, pleading cries of the malformed creature.
This thing, it is lost. Barely coherent. What Antoinette can do for it, it is likely that it will not happen via discussion and discorse, but only if she has any means to do anything. At worst, she could, if she's so inclined, may even put the suddenly aware, suddenly monster, out of its misery, too.
Antoinette lacks time, and that's the true problem here. She isn't as skilled a ritualist as Bill or Lily. The spells she knows aren't going to help here. Creating potions even - they all take *time*. This is way out of her depth, above and beyond anything she can quite wrap her head around. She has to accept the fact, quickly, that she isn't going to be able to help them. Not like this. So instead she takes does something to try and east the suffering that this poor thing is about to endure.
She crushes together a couple blue and pink pills from her recent test batch of 'Better Than X' and combined it with the contents of a repression potion that she's been hanging on to for 'emergencies'. She shakes it up and advances closer to the ooze creature. She isn't sure if it will even -work- on this thing...but she can hope for the lesser of two evils. She doesn't say anything, just jams the syringe into the ooze near what might serve as a neck. If it's successful then the last hour they've experience should be forgotten and, from the experimental drugs, a euphoric happiness might overtake that washes their worries away.
"I'm sorry." She whispers finally, stepping back once and fixing her blue eyes squarely on the mirror. Hopefully whatever is coming can see she's going to allow them to take this creature back from where it came.
For better or for worse.
All the air in the alchemical workshop grows thick, electric with tension. Every flickering light above seems dimmer now, their glow consumed by the growing darkness emanating from the mirror. It pulses faintly, ripples coursing across its surface like disturbed water. The unnatural pressure presses down on the room, suffocating and inescapable. The faint wails of the creature, muffled now, give way to a deep silence, broken only by the crackle of distant, otherworldly energy.
The ooze creature recoils slightly when the syringe pierces its gelatinous form, its body shuddering as the mixture begins to spread. At first, its thrashing limbs stiffen, and its many mismatched eyes dart wildly in all directions. But then, slowly, its movements calm, its contorted, amorphous shape beginning to relax. A low, tremulous sound escapes it, almost like a sigh of relief or gratitude, as the tension within it seems to melt away. The creatures breathing, if it could be called that, evens out into slow, rhythmic pulses, and its anguished wails are replaced by a low, humming murmur. The concoction works, for now.
But the respite is short-lived.
The mirror darkens completely, becoming a void that absorbs every stray beam of light in the room. The faint reflections of the workshop and its clutter vanish, replaced by a terrible, infinite blackness. Within that abyss, something shifts. Shapes- impossible, shifting geometries- emerge, writhing in the depths. A great, obscured presence presses against the thin boundary between dimensions, distorting the glass as if it were no more than stretched fabric. Faint whispers, unintelligible and alien, creep into the edges of the room, gnawing at the mind with their incomprehensible cadence.
The first sign of its arrival is the sound: a low, resonant drone that seems to vibrate through the floor, walls, and the very air itself. Then, the glass bulges outward, warping grotesquely until it bursts open in a soundless explosion. From the shattered void emerges something vast and incomprehensible. It defies shape and reason, its form shifting and folding upon itself in ways that strain the limits of perception. Tendrils of dark, viscous matter snake outward, coiling and undulating as they move with a purpose that seems both deliberate and chaotic.
The creature in the room stirs weakly as the tendrils approach. The otherworldly entity does not hesitate, its attention fixated entirely on the goo-like form sprawled on the floor. One tendril reaches down, wrapping around the creatures semi-solid body with surprising care. The ooze quivers, its eyes blinking in disjointed patterns as it releases a final, soft sound, a pitiable gurgle of resignation, or perhaps relief.
Tendrils of that entity tightens, lifting the creature effortlessly into the air. Its mass seems to dissolve slightly, merging into the greater darkness of the tendrils as if it had always belonged to this unfathomable being. The creatures many eyes dim and close, one by one, as the tendrils pull it inexorably toward the void of the mirror.
The moment the creature disappears into the swirling mass of the entity, the air in the room shifts again. The oppressive energy fades slightly, replaced by a cold stillness that seeps into the bones. The tendrils retract slowly, pulling back into the shattered remains of the mirror, which now begin to repair themselves. Shards of broken glass rise from the floor and fuse together, the mirror restoring itself as if nothing had ever disturbed its surface.
The last tendril lingers for a moment, coiling and uncoiling in the air as though tasting the atmosphere. It hesitates, the tip hovering near the floor, before withdrawing into the mirror with deliberate slowness. The void within the mirror collapses inward, shrinking until it is no more than a pinprick of blackness that vanishes with a faint, echoing pop.
Silence falls over the room. The oppressive weight in the air dissipates entirely, leaving behind only the faint hum of the workshops equipment. The mirror is once again just a mirror, reflecting the room and its scattered clutter as though nothing had happened. The only evidence of the encounter is the faint scent of something acrid and otherworldly lingering in the air, and the faintly glistening trail where the ooze creature had been.
Antoinette stays stock still as the impossibly large entity breaches the space, reclaiming what once belonged to it, or seemed to have. She barely feels herself breathing, or hears the hammering of her heart. She slumps forward against the table with that echoing pop, disbelief briefly crossing her features as the mirror is in tact again. The acrid air. The residue. She shudders with the contrast from heat to cold, grabbing at her mask to yank it off and draw in a deeper breath, muttering something about needing a drink as she shoves herself away from the table and starts hurrying back up the stairs.
As the encounter escalates, Antoinette is faced with the dire urgency of the situation. With limited time and knowledge on how to deal with such an anomaly, she opts for a compassionate response, administering a concoction meant to ease the creature's suffering. This act is met with a momentary sense of peace before a more formidable presence makes itself known. Emerging from the mirror, a vast and incomprehensible entity retrieves the creature, merging with it before disappearing as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving behind a restored room and an air thick with unresolved mysteries. The encounter concludes with Antoinette, shaken and bewildered, retreating from the laboratory, her mind grappling with the nightmarish reality that she had just witnessed, a stark reminder of the fragile boundary between the known and the unknowable in her line of work. This encounter underscores the unpredictable nature of delving into the supernatural and the unseen costs of such explorations.
(Antoinette's odd encounter(SRCastiel):SRCastiel)
[Sun Jan 26 2025]
In an escoteric alchemical workshop
The first thing one might notice about this room is the large mirror along the back wall, making the space seem bigger than it is. Next is the array of laboratory equipment geared toward a mixture of scientific and alchemical endeavors. The western wall is taken up by shelving and storage for various chemicals, ingredients, and a small cage or two perhaps for holding small mammals to test things on. They are currently empty. The eastern wall sports a large Ouroboros symbol that appears to be made of crystallized blood..
It is afternoon, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Someone in Haven has found out about the supernatural and is freaking out about it. They're at risk of exposing the secret, hurting themselves, or hurting others. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Antoinette is sitting on the floor of her lab, rubbing at her eyes a bit like maybe she'd chosen to take a nap for some reason and is just starting to wake up.
The air in the alchemical workshop is an odd combination of crisp sterility and faint chemical tang, though the biting cold of the day seeps in through the cracks in the ancient brickwork. Despite the numerous heaters lining the room, frost clings stubbornly to the edges of the mirror along the back wall, its silvered surface fogging slightly with each exhalation. The glass amplifies the light of the overhead fixtures, casting the room in a bright, almost clinical glow that fails to reach the shadowed corners.
Shelves along the western wall are crammed with jars and vials of varying sizes, their contents a kaleidoscope of colors and textures. Some shimmer iridescently, others pulse faintly as if alive, and a few are dark and opaque, their surfaces marked with alchemical sigils to warn against careless handling. Glass beakers, flasks, and coiled tubes glint under the light, their pristine surfaces betraying no sign of the strange experiments they've surely endured. A faint smell of burnt sulfur lingers in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the sickly sweetness of decaying organic matter.
Small animal cages on the lower shelves are conspicuously empty, their metal bars clean but scuffed, hinting at the creatures that had once been contained within. The absence of movement within the cages should be a relief, but instead, it only sharpens the oppressive stillness of the room. Each sound- the hum of fluorescent bulbs, the faint creak of wood as the structure of the building shifts in the cold- feels amplified in the silence. And yet, beneath it all, there is another sound, so faint at first it could be mistaken for imagination.
A low, almost imperceptible groaning rises from the pipes embedded within the walls, a sound like distant wind howling through a narrow canyon. The noise reverberates softly, curling through the air like smoke, growing in volume with an unsettling rhythm. It's not constant, but intermittent, as though whatever is producing it is stopping to listen or breathe. The metal plumbing creaks occasionally, the faintest sound of water sloshing within adding to the growing sense of unease.
On the tiled floor near the central workbench, an array of powders has been meticulously laid out in concentric circles, their patterns interrupted only by a single, jagged crack in one of the tiles. The flaw in the floor seems trivial at first, but the longer one looks at it, the more unsettling it becomes. The crack twists unnaturally, its edges darkened as though burned, and a faint warmth emanates from it despite the freezing air.
A sudden, sharp clink echoes through the room as one of the glass vials on the shelf trembles slightly, its contents- a thick, amber liquid- sloshing within. It is followed by another sound, deeper this time: a wet, gurgling noise that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The mirror along the back wall vibrates faintly, as though something massive is moving behind it, but there is nothing there- only the reflection of the room, stretched slightly by the curvature of the glass.
All that noise intensifies, the groaning within the pipes rising to a discordant wail. It's almost like a voice, not quite human, but not entirely alien either. There's a quality to it that suggests suffering, a keening that rises and falls in pitch as though whatever is making it is clawing at the very fabric of its existence. The sound is joined by a faint dripping, the slow and deliberate plink of water striking metal. Except it's not water.
From the drain beneath the central workbench, something dark and viscous begins to seep upward, defying gravity. It moves sluggishly at first, thick ropes of gelatinous fluid oozing out of the grate and pooling on the floor. The substance gleams in the harsh light, its surface rippling as though alive. It's not one solid mass but an amalgamation of smaller, shifting fragments that slide over and through each other, their movements disturbingly organic.
The sound of dripping intensifies, joined now by the faint sound of something scraping along the interior of the pipes. The gelatinous mass grows, spreading outward like spilled ink. Tiny filaments extend from its edges, probing the air with an unsettling sentience. It pulsates, emitting a faint, wet squelching noise that seems to echo unnaturally in the enclosed space. The frost on the mirror begins to melt, rivulets of water streaking downward as the temperature in the room inexplicably rises.
A faint, acrid smell fills the air, sharp and caustic, burning at the back of the throat. The groaning within the pipes has stopped, replaced by a deep, rhythmic thudding that seems to resonate from within the walls themselves. It's as though something massive and unseen is moving through the building, its presence pressing against the confines of the workshop like a predator testing the strength of its cage.
The viscous ooze continues to expand, its surface bubbling in places as if something beneath it is struggling to emerge. Eyes- or what might be eyes- form and dissolve within the mass, their appearance fleeting but undeniable. The wailing sound rises again, this time accompanied by a low, guttural growl that vibrates through the floor and into the very bones of anyone present. The mirror's surface distorts, the reflection of the room twisting and warping as though the glass is no longer solid.
From somewhere deep within the mass, a shape begins to form. It's indistinct at first, a suggestion of limbs and a torso, but it grows more defined with each passing moment. The ooze shifts violently, the newly-formed appendages slamming against the tiled floor with a wet, resonant thud. The creature's form is grotesque and ever-changing, its features melting and reforming in a way that defies logic or sanity.
The acrid smell intensifies as the creature lets out a sound that is neither a scream nor a roar but something in between, a noise that claws at the mind and leaves an unsettling echo in its wake. The overhead lights flicker, casting the workshop into brief moments of darkness. In those instants, the creature seems to grow larger, its shadow stretching unnaturally across the walls and ceiling, as if it exists in multiple planes at once.
The room's atmosphere grows heavy, oppressive, as though the very air is conspiring against any attempt to breathe. The frost on the edges of the mirror is gone now, replaced by a faint, reddish hue that seeps outward like blood in water. The temperature continues to rise, beads of sweat forming on Antoinette's any exposed skin despite the freezing temperatures outside. The creature's newly-formed limbs scrape against the tiles, leaving deep gouges in their wake as it begins to move, its intentions unclear but undeniably hostile.
Or is it?
Antoinette had pulled out her phone to check a couple things, still sitting on the floor. She sends off a quick text before the oppressiveness of the room starts to truly sink in, paired with the unsettling rattling, near guttural growling.
Antoinette rubs a hand at her eyes, like she is trying to wake herself up or something while the ooze spreads, grows. She tugs at her sweater, growing uncomfortably hot. She stumbles back a step or two as the creature's limbs start pull itself forward. Of course, the scientist in her, the alchemist, can't help but be dangerously curious alongside the fear of whatever this abomination is that's somehow found its way up from the...plumbing? She doesn't try to run yet, or get violent yet, but she is inching closer toward the stairs.
Antoinette had pulled out her phone to check a couple things, still sitting on the floor. She sends off a quick text before the oppressiveness of the room starts to truly sink in, paired with the unsettling rattling, near guttural growling.
It's a different oppressiveness than the natural one that emanates from the dedication of the room to Obsidian. That, she'd grown comfortable with. No. This was different. Potentially dangerous? She pushes herself cautiously to her feet, eyeing the crack in the floor. Had that always been there?
She rubs a hand at her eyes, like she is trying to wake herself up or something while the ooze spreads, grows. She tugs at her sweater, growing uncomfortably hot. She stumbles back a step or two as the creature's limbs start pull itself forward. Of course, the scientist in her, the alchemist, can't help but be dangerously curious alongside the fear of whatever this abomination is that's somehow found its way up from the...plumbing? She doesn't try to run yet, or get violent yet, but she is inching closer toward the stairs. (fix)
Another gurgles as the creature drags itself out of the cracked floor, the sound thick and wet, like a body submerged in tar trying to breathe. Limbs form and dissolve in turn, malformed hands grasping at the tiled surface only to collapse into writhing puddles that stretch and pull itself forward. The mass shudders violently, spilling over the floor in trembling waves, its tortured existence staining the once pristine laboratory with grotesque vitality.It speaks- barely. Its voice is layered, overlapping tones of a childish whisper and a guttural roar, its words fragmented and dripping with agony.
"Why... hurts... what am I?"
someone question hangs in the air, unanswered, as the thing convulses, attempting to stabilize itself into some semblance of form. Its "head," if it could be called that, rises slowly, unevenly from the rippling mass. The semblance of a face begins to push against the surface- distorted, asymmetrical, the features half-formed as if molded by an indifferent hand. "Help... please... make it stop." The words rattle out, wet and desperate, each syllable a plea edged with anguish.
A viscous tendril reaches toward a shelf but falters halfway, slapping down with a sickening squelch. Chemicals clatter as the vibrations ripple up the walls, one beaker tipping over and spilling its contents, the liquid hissing faintly as it reacts to the presence of the creature. The air grows thick with a chemical tang, almost suffocating in its intensity, but the thing doesn't seem to notice.
"Why... why like this?" the voice asks again, bubbling up with raw confusion. Its body twists in on itself, folds of flesh folding inward as if retreating from its own shape. "I don't... belong."
The crack beneath it widens further, the fractured tiles groaning as the creature's bulk grows heavier, more defined, as though it is absorbing the lab's oppressive energy. The mirror on the back wall trembles, vibrating against its frame, and for the briefest moment, Antoinette might notice something moving within it- not a reflection, but something deeper, a distortion that ripples independently of the room.
"I was... something," it continues, its trembling voice rising into a gurgled sob. "I don't... remember. Please... please don't... leave me like this."The creature's tendrils lash out suddenly, a reflexive, desperate movement. One strikes a nearby table leg, splintering the wood and sending glass shards scattering across the floor. Another tendril stretches toward the stairs, its end curling like a clawed hand, stopping short as if afraid to go further.
The agony in its voice shifts to something quieter, almost pleading. "It's dark... so dark. Don't let me go back there. Don't let me be alone." The room seems to close in further, the alchemical equipment rattling softly in rhythm with the creature's labored breaths. For a moment, the lab feels less like a sanctuary of science and more like a stage for something ancient and wrong, a place where pain and curiosity collide in the most unsettling of ways.
The creature's malformed face turns, its hollow sockets somehow fixed on Antoinette. Its expression- if it can even be called that- is an unholy mixture of longing and terror. "You know... you know what I am..." it whispers, its voice trembling on the edge of despair. "Fix me..."
nother gurgles as the creature drags itself out of the cracked floor, the sound thick and wet, like a body submerged in tar trying to breathe. Limbs form and dissolve in turn, malformed hands grasping at the tiled surface only to collapse into writhing puddles that stretch and pull itself forward. The mass shudders violently, spilling over the floor in trembling waves, its tortured existence staining the once pristine laboratory with grotesque vitality.It speaks- barely. Its voice is layered, overlapping tones of a childish whisper and a guttural roar, its words fragmented and dripping with agony.
"Why... hurts... what am I?"
The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as the thing convulses, attempting to stabilize itself into some semblance of form. Its "head," if it could be called that, rises slowly, unevenly from the rippling mass. The semblance of a face begins to push against the surface- distorted, asymmetrical, the features half-formed as if molded by an indifferent hand. "Help... please... make it stop." The words rattle out, wet and desperate, each syllable a plea edged with anguish.
A viscous tendril reaches toward a shelf but falters halfway, slapping down with a sickening squelch. Chemicals clatter as the vibrations ripple up the walls, one beaker tipping over and spilling its contents, the liquid hissing faintly as it reacts to the presence of the creature. The air grows thick with a chemical tang, almost suffocating in its intensity, but the thing doesn't seem to notice.
"Why... why like this?" the voice asks again, bubbling up with raw confusion. Its body twists in on itself, folds of flesh folding inward as if retreating from its own shape. "I don't... belong."
The crack beneath it widens further, the fractured tiles groaning as the creature's bulk grows heavier, more defined, as though it is absorbing the lab's oppressive energy. The mirror on the back wall trembles, vibrating against its frame, and for the briefest moment, Antoinette might notice something moving within it- not a reflection, but something deeper, a distortion that ripples independently of the room.
"I was... something," it continues, its trembling voice rising into a gurgled sob. "I don't... remember. Please... please don't... leave me like this."The creature's tendrils lash out suddenly, a reflexive, desperate movement. One strikes a nearby table leg, splintering the wood and sending glass shards scattering across the floor. Another tendril stretches toward the stairs, its end curling like a clawed hand, stopping short as if afraid to go further.
The agony in its voice shifts to something quieter, almost pleading. "It's dark... so dark. Don't let me go back there. Don't let me be alone." The room seems to close in further, the alchemical equipment rattling softly in rhythm with the creature's labored breaths. For a moment, the lab feels less like a sanctuary of science and more like a stage for something ancient and wrong, a place where pain and curiosity collide in the most unsettling of ways.
The creature's malformed face turns, its hollow sockets somehow fixed on Antoinette. Its expression- if it can even be called that- is an unholy mixture of longing and terror. "You know... you know what I am..." it whispers, its voice trembling on the edge of despair. "Fix me..."
There's a look to the mirror, those blue eyes clocking that ripple. Illusion? Dimensional? Dream-related? Were there other dimensions? That was a whole other bit that Antoinette did not need to start spiraling down into. She looks back to the creature, sweat beading along her face, breathing becoming difficult. She reaches for her rebreather, hanging up nearby, probably not used as often as it should be when dealing with such caustic chemicals and esoteric materials. She puts it on now to try and breathe a little easier and not pass the fuck out.
It needed her help though and Antoinette wasn't positive she -could- help it, but she had to try, right? As terrifying as this thing looked, as much as the fear was coursing through her right now...it was an opportunity for knowledge. "You aren't alone." She says finally, with as much convinction as she can muster. "You're not alone. And if you don't want to go back, you won't." Scrambling for time as she clocks the various things in the room that maybe might could help. Her eyes are drawn to the mirror again, watching for anything that might be trying to come out of it. "T-tell me your name, something about you, anything you can remember or think of." She tries to encourage the ooze, channeling her fear into -action- as she makes way for her primary bench to start working some of that alchemical magic and, well, maybe something will actually come of it.""
Antoinette's company, this creature, visibly quivers at her words, its amorphous body trembling as if reacting to the promise of solace. The face it had formed, twisted and broken, ripples like liquid under strain. A long, low gurgle escapes it, half a sigh of relief, half a sound of immeasurable despair. "Alone... for so long," it murmurs, the voice barely audible but layered with pain. The words bubble up through the viscous ooze, distorted and stretched, as though spoken through thick water. "Name... name... forgotten... but... I was someone."
It surges slightly forward, the tendrils at its edges stretching thin and then retreating, like it is testing its own boundaries. A claw-like limb forms briefly and scrapes against the floor, leaving shallow gouges in the tile before dissolving back into the quivering mass. "It hurts," the creature groans, louder this time, the sound reverberating in the air, an unnatural pitch that grates against the ear. "Why does it hurt? Why... did they make me?"
As it speaks, the mass seems to change, its surface becoming less cohesive, more volatile. Shimmering strands of dark, oily liquid rise and fall like steam from a boiling cauldron. Its voice grows more frantic, despair leaking into every syllable. "I don't understand. I didn't want this. They made me this way! They took... they took everything!"
The mirror behind it begins to ripple again, subtle at first, then with increasing intensity. The distortion is no longer confined to the glass; it spreads to the air around the mirror, warping the light, bending the reflections of the room into grotesque parodies of themselves. The image of the ooze within the mirror is even more monstrous, its face impossibly contorted and fractured. For a fleeting moment, there is the suggestion of movement beyond the glass- a shadowed shape, something vast and watching.
The creature turns toward the mirror as if it senses this presence, a wet hiss escaping from deep within its mass. "Them," it rasps, its tone trembling with fear and rage. "They... they're there. Watching. Always watching."
A tendril lashes out without warning, striking the mirror with a wet crack. The glass splinters, veins of fractures spreading like a spiderweb, but the mirror does not shatter. Instead, the distortions deepen, the warped light spilling out into the room like a living thing. The creature recoils, its form shrinking slightly as if expecting retaliation.
"Don't let them take me back," it begs, its many voices overlapping, rising into a pitiful wail. "They'll make me worse... worse than this!" The air grows heavier, thicker, the oppressive energy emanating from the mirror pressing down on everything in the room. The bottles on the shelves rattle faintly, a few teetering on the edge. A faint hum begins to resonate, coming from the glass itself, low and droning, carrying with it a sense of impending collapse. Whoever or whatever made this thing, it watches, and it bides its time in what may be morbid curiosity.
The creature's tendrils twist and writhe, no longer striking out but curling inward, as though it is trying to shield itself. "I don't want to be like this," it whispers, the words barely audible over the growing hum. "I was someone. I was... someone."
The mirror pulses, the distortions within it surging outward for a moment before receding, like the surface of water disturbed by a stone. The shadowed figure within it seems to shift closer, its edges becoming more defined- a looming presence that carries with it an undeniable aura of menace. Whatever it is, it is coming.
The creature lets out a keening wail, its form flattening against the floor as if trying to melt into the cracks. "Help me," it sobs, its voice breaking into a chorus of overlapping tones. "Please. Don't let them take me back!"
The hum deepens, the mirror's fractured surface now glowing faintly with a cold, silver light. The room seems to shrink, the walls bending inward imperceptibly, drawing all focus to the fractured glass and the abomination that cowers before it. The moment hangs precariously, the air thick with unspoken threats and the desperate, pleading cries of the malformed creature.
This thing, it is lost. Barely coherent. What Antoinette can do for it, it is likely that it will not happen via discussion and discorse, but only if she has any means to do anything. At worst, she could, if she's so inclined, may even put the suddenly aware, suddenly monster, out of its misery, too.
Antoinette lacks time, and that's the true problem here. She isn't as skilled a ritualist as Bill or Lily. The spells she knows aren't going to help here. Creating potions even - they all take *time*. This is way out of her depth, above and beyond anything she can quite wrap her head around. She has to accept the fact, quickly, that she isn't going to be able to help them. Not like this. So instead she takes does something to try and east the suffering that this poor thing is about to endure.
She crushes together a couple blue and pink pills from her recent test batch of 'Better Than X' and combined it with the contents of a repression potion that she's been hanging on to for 'emergencies'. She shakes it up and advances closer to the ooze creature. She isn't sure if it will even -work- on this thing...but she can hope for the lesser of two evils. She doesn't say anything, just jams the syringe into the ooze near what might serve as a neck. If it's successful then the last hour they've experience should be forgotten and, from the experimental drugs, a euphoric happiness might overtake that washes their worries away.
"I'm sorry." She whispers finally, stepping back once and fixing her blue eyes squarely on the mirror. Hopefully whatever is coming can see she's going to allow them to take this creature back from where it came.
For better or for worse.
All the air in the alchemical workshop grows thick, electric with tension. Every flickering light above seems dimmer now, their glow consumed by the growing darkness emanating from the mirror. It pulses faintly, ripples coursing across its surface like disturbed water. The unnatural pressure presses down on the room, suffocating and inescapable. The faint wails of the creature, muffled now, give way to a deep silence, broken only by the crackle of distant, otherworldly energy.
The ooze creature recoils slightly when the syringe pierces its gelatinous form, its body shuddering as the mixture begins to spread. At first, its thrashing limbs stiffen, and its many mismatched eyes dart wildly in all directions. But then, slowly, its movements calm, its contorted, amorphous shape beginning to relax. A low, tremulous sound escapes it, almost like a sigh of relief or gratitude, as the tension within it seems to melt away. The creatures breathing, if it could be called that, evens out into slow, rhythmic pulses, and its anguished wails are replaced by a low, humming murmur. The concoction works, for now.
But the respite is short-lived.
The mirror darkens completely, becoming a void that absorbs every stray beam of light in the room. The faint reflections of the workshop and its clutter vanish, replaced by a terrible, infinite blackness. Within that abyss, something shifts. Shapes- impossible, shifting geometries- emerge, writhing in the depths. A great, obscured presence presses against the thin boundary between dimensions, distorting the glass as if it were no more than stretched fabric. Faint whispers, unintelligible and alien, creep into the edges of the room, gnawing at the mind with their incomprehensible cadence.
The first sign of its arrival is the sound: a low, resonant drone that seems to vibrate through the floor, walls, and the very air itself. Then, the glass bulges outward, warping grotesquely until it bursts open in a soundless explosion. From the shattered void emerges something vast and incomprehensible. It defies shape and reason, its form shifting and folding upon itself in ways that strain the limits of perception. Tendrils of dark, viscous matter snake outward, coiling and undulating as they move with a purpose that seems both deliberate and chaotic.
The creature in the room stirs weakly as the tendrils approach. The otherworldly entity does not hesitate, its attention fixated entirely on the goo-like form sprawled on the floor. One tendril reaches down, wrapping around the creatures semi-solid body with surprising care. The ooze quivers, its eyes blinking in disjointed patterns as it releases a final, soft sound, a pitiable gurgle of resignation, or perhaps relief.
Tendrils of that entity tightens, lifting the creature effortlessly into the air. Its mass seems to dissolve slightly, merging into the greater darkness of the tendrils as if it had always belonged to this unfathomable being. The creatures many eyes dim and close, one by one, as the tendrils pull it inexorably toward the void of the mirror.
The moment the creature disappears into the swirling mass of the entity, the air in the room shifts again. The oppressive energy fades slightly, replaced by a cold stillness that seeps into the bones. The tendrils retract slowly, pulling back into the shattered remains of the mirror, which now begin to repair themselves. Shards of broken glass rise from the floor and fuse together, the mirror restoring itself as if nothing had ever disturbed its surface.
The last tendril lingers for a moment, coiling and uncoiling in the air as though tasting the atmosphere. It hesitates, the tip hovering near the floor, before withdrawing into the mirror with deliberate slowness. The void within the mirror collapses inward, shrinking until it is no more than a pinprick of blackness that vanishes with a faint, echoing pop.
Silence falls over the room. The oppressive weight in the air dissipates entirely, leaving behind only the faint hum of the workshops equipment. The mirror is once again just a mirror, reflecting the room and its scattered clutter as though nothing had happened. The only evidence of the encounter is the faint scent of something acrid and otherworldly lingering in the air, and the faintly glistening trail where the ooze creature had been.
Antoinette stays stock still as the impossibly large entity breaches the space, reclaiming what once belonged to it, or seemed to have. She barely feels herself breathing, or hears the hammering of her heart. She slumps forward against the table with that echoing pop, disbelief briefly crossing her features as the mirror is in tact again. The acrid air. The residue. She shudders with the contrast from heat to cold, grabbing at her mask to yank it off and draw in a deeper breath, muttering something about needing a drink as she shoves herself away from the table and starts hurrying back up the stairs.